The Moving Finger Writes
by PaolaAdara
Summary: Sometimes, there are no happy endings. Sometimes, love doesn't conquer all. And sometimes, what's right...hurts.


Title: The Moving Finger Writes (1/1)

Author: Paola

Disclaimer: _The Moving Finger Writes_ is based on characters and situations that belong to Bisco Hatori (and other production affiliates that have the right of ownership). No money is being made, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Considerations: Similarities to other stories/events/passages are purely coincidental unless otherwise cited. Beliefs and points of view found in the story do not necessarily reflect those of the author's.

Warning: Yaoi. Incest (better yet, twincest)

_**The Moving Finger Writes**_

It's so easy, you think, just a misplaced kiss, a lingering touch, a glazed look, and you can destroy everything for him, snap him in two, snuff out his light before he can begin to shine. Really, it's so easy that sometimes, you come so close to doing it, only to pull back and realize that you can't do it to him, not even if the desire becomes too much, not even if the desire consumes you. You think that if you do make a move, he would welcome it, would not push you away, would smile and tell you that it's okay because it's the two of you and _what do they care?_ Tempting, it's very tempting, and it's always easier to give in, to stop denying yourself of what you want.

But you don't give in, you don't stop denying yourself of what you want _because_ that's how much you love him.

You can't turn society against the two of you, against _him_, so you keep everything light, keep everything _brotherly_, everything platonic. You don't touch when you're not supposed to, you don't hug him as much as you'd like to, and you kiss him on the _cheek_, on the _forehead_, on the _nose_ — and sometimes on the neck, but you keep it chaste, always, always keep it chaste — nowhere else. It's torture, pure and simple, but you suppose it's worth it, that he is worth every prickle of pain; _he_ is worth the world, after all.

But then there always comes a time when you want him so bad, want to tell him the truth, want to spill everything and see whether he would really not reject you — if, maybe, he loves you like you do him. Just last week, you were both in the room you've shared since you graduated from having to sleep in your cribs, and he was there, listening to his music player, comfortably lying on his back with his head resting on your thigh as you played a new game on your PSP. He was so clueless, so innocent, so content, so confident that the only thing you had on your mind then was beating the hell out of a stupid boss in the game. A small smile was comfortable on his lips, and he had no idea just how many times you'd lost already because your eyes kept straying to his lips, thinking, wondering how it was so easy to bend down and kiss him.

And then today, you see him sprawled on the bad, shirtless, as you leave the bathroom, his white button down and school blazer still hanging from the open wardrobe. You walk over to him and prod a shoulder blade to wake him up from his nap. The skin is smooth, flawless, easy on the touch, and he gives a slight grunt of protest, which turns into a content moan when you run your fingers through his hair. Hearing that kind of sound, you retract your hand as if burnt, belatedly realizing that you might overstep your bounds, and he looks at you with a puzzled expression, asking why you stopped. You give a feeble excuse, saying that he must hurry up because you'd be late for school, and as if putting more distance between the two of you would make you forget that sound he had produced, you walk towards the closet and retrieve his uniform.

It's getting harder to resist, especially when he tries to get closer to you, probably thinking why you're distancing yourself, probably worrying that you'd leave him behind, not once thinking that your actions serve a particular purpose. And it kills you to have him doubt you like that, to _make _him doubt you like that, but you reason that it's for his own good. If you stop pretending to chase the other, it would all go downhill — more than it does now — because you wouldn't have anything to distract yourself with, so you don't stop, and he gets hurt, but it's all for the best...isn't it?

You blame your brotherly love act for these feelings inside you, these inappropriate, frustrating feelings that aren't offered any outlet, but then, you think, if it weren't for the brotherly love act, then there'd be no other reason for you to look at him like that, no other reason for you to hold him _that_ way, no other reason for you to enjoy that sweet torture of almost kissing him where you shouldn't.

It's so obvious, how he clings to you, and, at the same time, tries to let you go, tries to let you grow up, vacillating between being selfish and being charitable, and you think it's cute, but unnecessary and useless all the same...because he doesn't know that you're not clueless...doesn't know that _he's_ the one who has no idea of what's really happening. How can he assist you in growing up when you've grown up long before you've met her? You've been a grown up ever since you realized how you feel about him, ever since you've decided not to ruin his future, not to bring him down with you. It's just that, you _don't act it_; it's just that, if you show it, you two wouldn't be in sync, you'd be on different wavelengths, more different than the ones you're already on because he thinks he knows everything about you when, in fact, he doesn't.

They think you're more immature than he is, especially her, but they don't know any better. He...he's the child that tries to understand the world he lives in, tries to understand that new other world the two of you are being introduced to, but you, you already know things he doesn't, you already feel things he doesn't, you already desire for things that he probably wouldn't ever desire for.

Sometimes, when there's nothing else to think about, you feel the weight of your sin, and it's _difficult _to deal with.The hardest times, however, are when there's no one else around, when it's just the two of you and he's feeling quite touchy, cuddly. Take _now_, for example. You think it's annoying that school finishes way faster than you expect, and now you're inside the car, the reinforced window separating you and your brother from the driver dark and in place, and, _oh god_, he's sitting so close, his head cradled between your neck and shoulder because he says he has a headache, his breath tickling your neck, and the dream from last night assaults you. _Oh god._

That dream...it was so vivid, it had felt so real, so hot, so forbidden, and when you woke up last night, you could feel your heart breaking into a million pieces after recognizing the yearning that would never be fulfilled, the yearning you'd never try to fulfil because it _shouldn't be_ — it would hurt him, so you wouldn't consider it. _Dammit._

When the car jerks, he moans at the pain in his head, and he tries to snuggle closer, looking for a more comfortable position, and your dream just wouldn't leave you. It had been almost the same — moaning, groaning, bodies writhing in the heat, and there's no nuzzling to ease any kind of pain but kissing and sucking and _nuzzling to make the other feel good_, and _oh god_— You tell yourself to stop thinking. But he's so close, so close that his breath fans across your skin, unwittingly tantalizingly, waking up every nerve ending…making you so aware, despite your uniforms, where exactly the two of you are touching.

_Shit._ You really should stop thinking of your brother this way, it's making you hot, it's making you uncomfortable, and he, being the way he is, would notice it, and _then_ where would you be?

When the car finally arrives at your house, it's almost a blessing, you think, and when the limo comes to a stop, you almost shove your brother aside in your haste to get away. You whisper a quick _we're_ _home_ before stepping out and rushing awkwardly towards the house, and you don't look back. You never look back. Not since the first time you fled from him and made the mistake of looking back. You saw then how hurt he had been from your seemingly unfeeling actions, and from then on, you've never once repeated the same mistake.

But he's so forgiving, so, _so_ forgiving that it's almost a sin because that night, he's back to smiling at you, he's back to being your twin, and you're back to pretending that everything's okay again — it's what's _normal_. But you know you're lying, you know you're deceiving him, and the only justification you can find is that _it's better this way_.

That night, he tells you goodnight before burrowing under the covers, and before he turns off his lamp shade, in a quiet, peaceful voice, he says, _I love you, Hikaru_, just like what he always says before turning in for the night. And then he's out like a light, not waiting for you to reply because he trusts you to love him like he does you, but he's mistaken.

You love him, alright, but you love him more than you should.

It takes you a lot longer to feel the beckon of sleep, and when you do, just for a selfish second, you scoot closer and lay a soft kiss on his lips. Just for a selfish — _stolen_ — second. Not a heartbeat longer. Never a heartbeat longer. _God, Kaoru, I love you so much._

Then you move away, putting such a big space between you, and you think that it's a precaution because you never know when the dreams would come and wake you, all hot and bothered, and if you're too close to him, he'd feel your discomfort, _and then_ he would know. He _can't_ know, so you try to stay on your side of the bed, fight the temptation to touch, to familiarize while he's vulnerable. If you sleep too close, you wouldn't know what you might end up doing.

Really, everything you do, even if it hurts him in the process, is all for him. After all, nothing can hurt him much more than you acting on your desire, on your feelings. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly. You're protecting him by hurting him with your chasing of another. Ironic, and you almost laugh at the Fates' twisted sense of humour. Here you are, wishing for something that can never be, and the powers that be decide to dangle it right before your eyes. What's more, they've made him _so unsuspecting_.

You look over to him one last time, clenching your fists to keep you sane, to keep you from shaking him awake and dragging him down with you. _Dammit_, you're going to hell, and you know it, and before consciousness leaves you for the night, you think, _it's true_, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

_-fin-_

The moving finger writes – Whatever a person does in his life is his own responsibility and can't be changed

A/N:

...because we need to give Kaoru a break. The poor devil's always the one secretly in love with his twin so let's have it the other way around! This is the start of the save-Kaoru movement.

I kid.


End file.
